


Red Threaded

by MrMcLemons



Category: The Dark Tower (2017)
Genre: Blood Kink, Deal With It, F/M, Implied Attraction, MOVIE NOT BOOK, fight, honestly just love matthew, i guess, i know the books are better but let me have my fantasies, like actually bloody fight, matthew mcconaughey as walter is hot, not too descriptive, some book components, some of my own shit thrown in there, this is a one shot for a fanfic I'm never gonna write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 08:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMcLemons/pseuds/MrMcLemons
Summary: Lane is not very good at running, and Walter does eventually catch up. When he does she realizes maybe death would've been a better alternative, but he won't allow that. Not yet, anyways.For now he's just going to have some fun.(Part of a fanfic I will never write. Just thought I'd share.)





	Red Threaded

The crowd pushed her forward, and even on a good day Lane would have been no force to stop it. Everything overwhelmed her: the smell, the thrumming of his presence in her brain. She could feel him with her, like his hand was already wrapped tightly around her neck, choking what little breath she could manage when he was with her.

Fuck. She didn't want to die today. It was the only thing she could think as the bodies pressed further into her and forward, feet shuffling on the dry carpet. The soles of her shoes had nearly completely peeled off, but the usual subtle squeaking noise they omitted was eclipsed by the loud murmurs and grunts around her.

She was struggling to control her own thoughts, they were rampaging in her head like a loud overlapping drum. Being silent was so hard when you were sure you were going to die, and he couldn’t hear her at any cost. And the smell... it permeated her brain and she allowed herself to think about that, though the distraction did not serve itself at much length.

The pain in her side made her touch a newly discovered wound, dripping in a considerable amount of blood that had begun to stain her hands and shirt crimson. It was a dull, throbbing pain that, having noticed just now, made her eye twitch. A perfect distraction, for sure. Inconvenient as well, especially considering she didn't know what was to happen. She plugged it with a scrap of her cloak and discreetly dried her fingers of blood.

Ken was supposed to be a safe haven. Already considerably large on its own, but then overflowing with nomads from other scattered towns across Mid-World that had faced the destruction of the Man in Black, much like her. But there was no escaping it, and that depressing thought washed through the minds of every person until she appeared and thought just as they did. Today would be a day of suffering for sure, and more likely also a day of mourning. If there was anyone left to do it.

Large drapes hung from the ceiling, cutting a low view to the front of the mass where she could see him standing, if only from the mussed way his hair sat upon his head. A few of her own tricks had allowed Lane to become hardly recognizable at first glance if not already done by the many days trekking in a desert landscape, but there was no hiding the twisting mark that grew from the skin over her heart and down to the pulse in her wrist. Slowly growing larger, stronger. Cloaks worked nicely, but many days on the road had torn the thin material to shreds, and it was hard when it was so hot. Blistering hot like it was now, like there was lava pouring on them. She was sweating a ridiculous amount.

Everyone stopped shuffling, the quota for the over large room having been easily met with just about half of the town's total population. A nasty amount of Ta'kems were surrounding the group along with an armada of skin walkers, all bearing their respective arms. After a bit of looking Lane could pinpoint only one alternate exit, which included a risky jump and a fall of over four stories. A risk that might be necessary if shit really turned bad. Even then—what amount of soldiers below that heeded to Walter was a disconcerting thought by itself, the thought of breaking both her legs didn't sound nice either.

Now another thing was becoming apparent: the urge to succumb to the twisting pain in her side, also accompanied by the beginning of another attack via the mark on her wrist, was adding up to a considerable amount of distraction. Maybe it was too much, it might be noticeable if she began to convulse on the floor like she'd done during previous episodes. Perhaps that was the point.

Well, fuck you too, Walter. 

Instead Lane scratched irritably at her wrist, assuaging a bit of the tremors that had begun to shake through her body and the cold sweat that also always followed. She looked up from the glowing black mark on her wrist, pulsing a green heartbeat around the center, only after covering it when a voice sounded across the people.

"Settle down, everyone." His words silenced the crowd, then he continued with their full attention. "I'm in need of assistance locating a ward of mine," his voice sounded almost friendly, then everyone remembered how many people he'd killed and stopped fantasizing. Maybe it was just her, or the heat. "She's about this high, dark red hair, a very foul mouth.... I assume she smells bad, as well, because she’s been on the road for a while.” He seemed to be searching through the lot, which began to part in whatever direction he decided to go into. Lane knew she could focus on the pain and it would create the barrier in her mind from him, but with him it was never that simple. She was trying to dupe the master in his very presence, her own experience limited to none. Fuck. Fuck. She was screwed. So fucking screwed!

"...She should also have a bullet somewhere around here." And he stabbed someone right in their side, right in the exact spot her bullet wound was. Lane grimaced, unable to hide the twitch of her hand to go to the aforementioned area. It seemed to sting more, now. Where had the knife come from anyways?

Hooooooolllly shit. Holy shit!

She watched mutely as the victim cried out in pain, clutching the wound as they fell to the ground and writhed. No one else moved.

"Anyone, anyone at all?" There was no answer, only a pregnant silence that made her heart sound like a drum in her chest. A funeral procession, a nice send off when she exploded either from pain or not being able to breathe. Lane was so scared, she was feeding off the horror that hung in the air around her and it was so suffocating. It was hard to see him, everything was becoming blurry again.

"No takers? Shame." Then she heard it in her head, because of course he could overpower her, how had she thought otherwise?

I'll find you one way or another.

His voice rang out like the final drum before the march ended, "Everyone kill each other."

Immediately a thirst for blood replaced any other emotion in everyone but her. Fear became all she could taste as she turned, watching as everybody around her jumped into action: scrambling for necks, bones, and to kill as their master had commanded. A hand grasped her shoulder, tearing at her skin and shirt for a grasp to throw her to the ground and perhaps stomp the life out of her. Lane grunted a hardly intelligible "FUCK!" before kicking her attacker, who was a male, right between the legs. When he dropped to his knees he dragged her cloak down with him, and she managed to fish her freedom by kneeing him in the face.

The adrenaline hadn't won over yet, and she didn't want it to. It'd make her do something stupid. But the aching in her side was still just as prominent as the fear on her tongue, tasting like sand and drying up her saliva. Her composure was slipping already, and that was the last resort beside the four story drop to broken legs. Maybe death, if she was lucky.

Another pair of hands came down on her shoulders, these ones prompting a wild move to tip back and bring him with her. They both fell and the man she hit down stayed, but another came up and pursued her as fair game. Lane grunted as she was hoisted up only to be punched square in the jaw. Somehow nothing popped, but she could taste something wet and dry at the same time. It was her blood. The pain wasn't great, but it made her body feel heavy and suddenly the prospect of never getting up again sounded nice. Nausea exploded into her gut, and her ears rang for a short second. Then...

Another forceful blow came down, but this one was to her ankle and it took a moment to register before the snap came and her scream rang out. It was pinched short by the gurgling blood, but Lane was not deterred so easily. Her brain had gone fuzzy, eyesight slurred and yet everything she heard and saw and felt was in supreme focus. Trying to keep Walter out didn't cross her mind.

Good, fucking great. Fuck.

She rolled over and onto her back, narrowly missing a pair of people who'd fallen to the ground in their ventures to murder each other much like her own pursuers. Her left arm twitched something fierce, like the etches of power that ran down her forelimb were trying to release themselves from the flesh barrier of her skin.

Getting to her feet seemed preposterous, a notion her broken ankle laughed at with all the pain it reverberated. A part of her realized this little soirée was only contemporary, but then the hands came.

Again to the shoulders, this time with a crushing grip that seemed to pop every bone from their correct place. Lane felt a moment of placid horror, then the blood in her mouth poured over her lip, and like every emotion in her body, it all overflowed. Her arm buzzed, electricity racing through her fingertips as she turned from his grip and simultaneously punched him square in the face. Her balance was thrown off, weight unsustainable on one leg, but another person came and she pummeled them, too. Two punches. Leaning up against a pole she managed to duck out of a potentially fatal blow herself before landing one to the stomach. He toppled over like a rag doll, but came back.

Her hand was steadied on the pole, her bad leg hovering to the side as she tried to stay upright. Her attacker came fast and his fingers sought her side, outstretched like individual claws that pierced the already freshened wound of her side, digging into the bullet wound. This time her pain was vocal, "MOTHER FUQKER!" She would wonder later if her shouting was discernible over all the fighting, but in a quick counter she used her hand and back to push off the pole and utilize the momentum to throw her attacker to the ground with her body following suit. His head bounced on the floor, and right as it came back up her fist jetted down. Again, then again. Both times cracking. He stopped moving beneath her, arms strapped to his sides by either of her barring legs and she began to get up, thinking maybe she'd done what Walter asked without thinking.

Her arm zapped. She found herself on her feet, narrowly avoiding a chair that had been swung in a wide arc in an attempt to blow her over. She caught it easily by the legs when it passed her and then launched it back where it'd come from. Some part of her distantly recognized the sound of the wood breaking as it hit it's target.

Everywhere around her there was blood. Bodies strewn limply with their limbs straggled at impossible angles, anger sown into the final minutes of their faces. It smelled horribly, too, like a rotting body because of all of the unhinged sweat and blood; a battlefield in its own right. Everything felt dull, and Lane wondered if she'd ever been blocking Walter out at all. She couldn’t think much less focus on one thing, and her head her very bad.

Metal screeched, and she turned just in time to see a blade unsheathed before it was launched at her face. Ducking didn't even cross her mind, nor did side stepping. Her hand reflexively shot up faster than it came and caught the blade right between her palm and her thumb, the sharp edge glaring upwards and away from her skin. Out of all the things to injure her, a knife wouldn't be one.

Then, out of reflex, like it was all she'd known, she threw it back and watched as the blade embedded itself through his cheek and into the base of his skull. Impossible for someone normal.

The realization of what had happened didn't cross her mind until the clapping of a single person started, echoing in the cathedral of death that had so suddenly stopped. What the fuck? When had that happened?

The body dropped with a heavy thump. Lane's mouth fell open, eyes widening as she stated in mute horror at the body. Then the fear left after only existing for a brief moment, and she felt a dull complacency before once more feeling the fear set it's course. She sniffed slightly, blood tracking back up her nose as it also fell from her lips. Dribbling like a loose faucet.

"A marvelous performance. It could've all been avoided... but where would the fun have been in that?"

She looked at him through bloodied eyes, hair strewn across her vision. He was immaculate, as always, dressed in all black robes that was absolutely tantalizing and frustrating at the same time. "You knew where I was the whole time." When he didn't answer at her observation she continued flatly, "I never did have a chance."

He made a small motion with his hands, "Once you did, but not since you arrived here. Out of all the places to go, it's to those most likely to betray you."

Lane shook her head, gulping loudly. It tasted like metal. Blood.

He went on, "Flock to the herd and the wolves will still sniff you out. You were never meant to be among them."

He walked closer, like the dream. She flinched, unable to move without putting pressure on her ankle. Fuck it hurt. She couldn't tell if she was more angry, scared, or horny. What the fuck?

"A wolf among sheep? Did you ever expect to be one of them?"

"Stay the fuck away—"

Still he pursued, "There is no control over your ka, and it lies with me. You were brought to me."

"Take another step and I'll—" she almost fell, arm raised to try her hand at hitting him. What a fucking brilliant idea. Before it even launched forward his fingers clamped around her wrist, twisting it awkwardly so her body wrenched with it. A lone digit trailed to her weeping side, replacing the bullet into the hole as if measuring how deep the wound was.

Tears spilled over her eyes, a gurgle caught between a sob and a surge of expletives fumbling her tongue into a knot. The pain was excruciating and threatened the roughest edges of her mind where darkness lingered. She fell onto him, unable to support her own body weight as the pain exploded in every inch of her person in severe clarity. "You fucking asshole!” Blood splattered onto his vest, but it wouldn’t be noticeable. It was too black, like his god damn heart.

Still, he hushed her softly - surprisingly successfully cutting off her words at the sudden shift, as he raised the bloodied finger (her watching, hypnotized) past her face and bringing it to his lips, sucking every red drop clean off. It was hard not to make a sound watching him. At the very least she hoped it would’ve been in disgust.

He made no comment on his action, or if her blood tasted sour or not (she wondered, considering he gave nothing away with his face). Sleep was beginning to sound like an undeniable temptation, eyes drooping slightly (or was that the arousal? she couldn't tell). Her moral compass was slipping as the throbbing grew.

"Sir, the portal is ready." A distant voice said.

"Goodie, be there in a hot second." And he bowed and tucked his hands under her knees, hoisting her off her feet and to his chest. Like a cage. A warm, rough cage that would probably see her to an early grave. Death’s embrace.

"Let me..."

She couldn't even finish, and his smile was soft. Mockingly soft. She was sure he hadn't been genuine about kindness ever, let alone after he set a horde of people after her with the intention of murder. This show of carrying her was some sort of mark, some sort of message she didn't know and couldn’t begin to understand. Maybe later though.

He kissed her on the brow, and the wet feeling of his tongue tasting her blood didn't go unnoticed.

She began to hiss something, but she didn’t even know what she was gonna say. When the black entered her vision it took only a moment for it to swallow her whole, and the words were left unsaid on the tip of her tongue.


End file.
